The rain, it’s plain, was making me insane

When you don’t have a job you have no reason to leave the house – and little desire to, either, because it seems like you can’t take a step forward without losing $20 in this town. So I was spending my days holed up with Netflix, except for the occasional job interview which I was actually resentful about, because it meant putting on heels.

But all that’s behind us, for the time being. I had family in from out of town this weekend – my sister, a freshman at college; and a wealthy older cousin from the West Coast who came bearing theater tickets and reservations at expensive, top-of-shiny-building-type restaurants. It continually amazes me how many New Yorks there really are. When my cousin said she would love to live in New York for six months, I could see what it would be for her: Broadway shows; shopping on Madison Avenue; and dinners in the kinds of places where you have eight different waiters, a new one each time your water glass needs refilling. She would barely be aware of my New York – going to see friends in plays on the fifth floor of some walk-up on 10th Avenue (or the basement of a school), eating Chinese take-out on the floor. A spacious studio on the Upper West side instead of my two roommates and my bedroom that’s barely bigger than a bed. Taking cabs instead of waiting twenty minutes for the R. Whole Foods instead of the deli.

I like my New York. If I could afford hers, I might like that, too. I like all New Yorks. I like those moments on the street when I see people who clearly inhabit a city very different from my own, and I wonder what they think when they pass me by, or if they notice me at all.

At some point the conversation turned, as so many do these days, towards blogs. My cousin’s boyfriend reads many blogs, often before he reads the actual news.

“I don’t know,” my cousin said, “I don’t know if I would trust what I read [in a blog]. I mean, who knows who’s writing it?”

Touche.

2 Comments so far

  1. Tessa (unregistered) on October 17th, 2005 @ 3:30 pm

    There are so many New Yorks,, and I wish I could afford to live in more of them.

    I actually had a debate with my boss the other day that New York would be the best place to be a hermit. That’s not the typical New York, but it is a reality. You could freelance from home, do all your banking online, get all your food delivered (if you dare), and have your laundry delivered as well. You don’t even need any interaction with humans on the phone, placing orders online.

    People I know from other parts of the country think everything is either Sex and the City or CSI:New York. When I tell them about my New York they ask why I live here. Sometimes I wonder that too, but then you get a day like today with the crisp autumn air and the cabbie who totally ran that red in front of you, and it is New York.

    There’s a reason there’s the line I’m going to misquote: there’s a thousand different stories in this naked city, mine is only one.


  2. Anna (unregistered) on October 17th, 2005 @ 5:51 pm

    The are also plenty of New Yorks I’m glad I don’t have to live. The sweatshop worker in Chinatown or South Williamsburg, day laborers, delivery guys, sex workers, etc.

    The part of the city that’s downright depressing often gets shoved aside for the glamorous Sex and the City gloss.



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